


Recalibration

by blue_wo1f



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), also everyone/happiness, background accords nonsense, everyone will say i'm sorry a lot, mostly i ship tony stark/happiness, renegotiating the accords, self-indulgent reconciliation fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-14 03:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17500706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_wo1f/pseuds/blue_wo1f
Summary: The deciding factor is, funnily enough, something almost completely unrelated to both the Avengers and the Accords, which dings cheerfully onto his phone at 2:17 the next afternoon.Mr. S, so I was out patrolling, and I saw this guy in green attacking this other guy, and then Dr. Wizard turned up again, and they had this crazy kung-fu fight with like, spells and stuff, and I’m totally not hurt and everything is fine, but Dr. Wizard got all worried anyway, and now he’s going to teach me MAGIC STUFF. Isn’t that awesome?!Precisely zero percent of that message is reassuring.“Jesus fuck,” Tony says.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m choosing to just ignore the whole engagement thing from the end of Homecoming because it’s easier. All my knowledge of these characters comes from the movies and bits of Wiki. Probably not comic-compliant. 
> 
> Rating and tags likely to change. 
> 
> Unbeta’d.

He doesn’t know what he expected... after. After everyone dissolved to ash on Titan, after his desperate, limping journey back to Earth, after a terse, grim-faced reunion with former friends. After Thanos.

 

They’ve won, somehow, those willed away at the whim of the Mad Titan brought back with just as little fanfare. Just a snap of the fingers. Jesus fuck.

 

So he’s helped save the world again, he supposes, and for all that the stakes have felt enormous each time, this one was different. He doesn’t feel joyous relief as those lost phase back into existence, doesn’t feel much of anything, like now he’s the one fading to dust even as Peter blinks at him with wide, startled eyes before slamming into him with a bone-crushing hug and a choked out, “Mr. Stark, _oh my god.”_

 

It’s much the same with Pepper, with Rhodey. The people he’s closest to in all the world, and he finds he just... can’t. Can’t feel, can’t think, can’t breathe. Can’t do this, any of it: the press, the UN, Iron Man. He’s so goddamn exhausted, like everything since Loki has been one enormous free fall, or possibly a panic attack, fuck if he knows, but he’s done, okay, done, quit, finis. Out. He needs to get out, away, away from the crushing pressure of the world on his shoulders, sleep for about a month, and maybe, eventually, everything will stop looking so greyed out at the edges and he’ll stop feeling like he’s just going to dissolve away. Poof. Gone. A snap of the fingers. Jesus _fuck_.

 

***

 

Pepper looks a bit watery, and Rhodey has the concerned eyebrows, but they both understand, bless them. And so, as quietly as possible, Tony fucks off to his mostly-quietly-rebuilt house in Malibu. Pepper’s elite squad of PR handlers handles it, some predictably vague story involving a sabbatical and a yacht, and that is apparently that.

 

Tony arrives in an uncharacteristically low-profile luxury sedan, to an equally uncharacteristically low-profile, but tasteful, cliff-side house. Unlike the tower, the building that has replaced his curving, glass-walled Malibu mansion is less a statement of his status and more of a sanctuary from it. Gone are the ultra modern curves and overhanging balconies. In their place sits an only slightly sprawling Mediterranean styled villa, covered patios settled firmly on the bedrock beneath the supporting arches of the second story. It is a vision of warm earth tones and, compared to the neighboring monstrosities several miles in either direction, practically quaint. Naturally, Pepper’s had a considerable hand in its design. Tony finds he loves it on sight.

 

The first two days he spends alternately sleeping and exploring the house. He’d funded the construction without a second thought, but had himself almost no input in the design of the house itself, beyond the necessary entries to the (also rebuilt) workshop below. Pepper’s influence is everywhere, from the decor, to the tile and hardwood and drapes, to the wonderfully open floor-plan. The mansion, for all that it had been home, had never been...homey.

 

FRIDAY had done enough of a diagnostic when the house was completed to tell him that systems were generally good to go, and that any adjustments could wait until he had the time for a site visit. So, the rest of the week is spent adjusting sensors, running diagnostics, installing hardware upgrades, and improving any areas he’d somehow overlooked with the assistance of FRIDAY. By the end of it, his girl has the run of any conceivable function the house has to offer, and they’ve made the villa enough of a fortified sanctuary to match anything the mansion had boasted. If, in the back of Tony’s mind, a tiny treacherous voice whispers _what will it matter, if another Thanos comes,_ well, that’s just one more demon to box away with all the others.

 

After the house proper, he finally ventures hesitantly down into the workshop. It’s pristine, an utterly blank slate. There’s an intimidatingly large pile of supplies and equipment in the industrial lift, which Happy had personally overseen the delivery of and left for Tony to sort himself. So, Tony does.

 

And so the weeks pass, FRIDAY nagging him to eat, sleep, and then diving back down into the workshop to tinker. R&D is going to love him whenever he goes back, he thinks wryly.

 

He’s not a total hermit, he’s in contact with people. Phone calls and emails or texts with Pepper and Rhodey every couple days, Happy, too, once or twice a week. Bruce and Vision, more occasionally, with small updates on their ends. He’s kept in the loop on major things with the company, and the occasional vague rumble of world politics. And there’s Peter.

 

_Mr. S, FRIDAY and your boss lady said it was okay if I text you about stuff. She seems nice and also terrifying. Sort of like MJ?_

 

_Hey Mr. S! Hope CA is nice. I saw a video on YouTube that there’s a restaurant there with the world’s most expensive hotdog! Have you been there?_

_I guess things are getting back to normal around here, Mr. S! The corner mart’s back open, and they’re selling the most amazing breakfast tacos now!_

_You wouldn’t believe what happened today, Mr. S, this guy in green spandex and a fishbowl helmet made everyone all loopy with like, psychic powers. Where do these guys even come from?? Doctor Wizard turned up and helped, even! It was pretty cool_

_Have you seen the new Godzilla movie, Mr. S?! It’s AMAZEBALLS!_

_Omg I didn’t mean to actually send that last text, sorry Mr. S_

 

And they just... keep coming, multiple a day. Little updates on how Peter is doing, his school life, Spider-Man things, occasionally things about his friends, and often just running comments about whatever Peter happens to be watching on TV or the Internet. Tony responds, every now and then, quipping back occasionally, but for the most part just reads them as they come through. Peter never seems to expect a response. It’s like some kind of one-sided pen-pal thing, and the craziest part (or maybe not) is that Tony looks forward to them. Each little inane message never fails to make him grin a bit.

 

He brought the suit with him, of course, couldn’t bear to leave it secured away in New York even as he could hardly bear to look at it, either. But Tony is who he is, can’t help the ideas that drift through his head while he works, eats, sleeps. So he starts by just noting them down, sketching up schematics when they gnaw at him particularly hard, until one day he finds himself breathing deep as he pulls the suit out, and just staring at it for a bit. He can’t help remembering as he looks at it, but it doesn’t feel like drowning or choking in the void of deep space as much as he’d expected it to. Whether that means he’s finally started processing the whole nightmare, or he’s just too far beyond hope of normalcy isn’t something he cares to dwell on, so he decides the former is less depressing and gets on with starting on those niggling upgrades he’s been tooling with.

 

It feels a bit cowardly, hiding away like this, he’ll admit that. Rhodey and Pepper are quick to reassure him that time away to heal is good, they have things under control, if he’s happy where he is for the love of God, _stay there._ And he is, if not happy, then at least content. He is, at heart, a mechanic, and the time to just tinker with no underlying necessity beyond his own enjoyment does far more to settle him than any therapy session probably could. Still, the world hasn’t stopped turning just because he’s doing his level best to ignore it. He’ll have to go back sooner or later.

 

The catalyst for said return comes in the form of several things, which happen within a week of each other some eight months into his… vacation? Convalescence? Whatever.

 

The first turns up lounging gracefully on the couch in his living room when he emerges from the workshop one evening. Whatever vague thoughts of takeout he’d been contemplating vanish the moment he rounds the hall corner to find Natasha Romanov eyeing him from across the room. His reaction is not panic, or even anger, just a resigned sort of hollow ache. It’s not what he expected, and from the arch of Natasha’s brow, it’s not what she expected either. He wonders if he’d been subconsciously expecting something like this since he’d left New York. Still, can’t be too careful around super secret agent types.

 

“FRIDAY, everything alright?”

 

“Yes, boss. We’ve been chatting. She asked very nicely to come in- at the front door, even. I have security measures on standby.”

 

Hesitant is a word he’d be hard-pressed to associate with the former spy, but it’s the word that comes to mind when she raises a hand bearing a bottle of some truly excellent vodka. Tony snorts, and moves to sit next to her. He knows a peace offering when he sees one.

 

“Ms. Romanov. To what do I owe the unexpected visit?” he asks, as he settles back in the cushions.

 

Natasha’s mouth twitches up in a ghost of her sly smile. “Mr. Stark. I was in the neighborhood, and thought I’d check in on an old teammate.” At the look Tony slants her, she adds, “Of my own prerogative, not at the urging of any…mutual connections.”

 

Tony hums noncommittally.

 

She lets out a quiet sigh, reaching to pull glasses she must have pilfered from his kitchen closer to the edge of the low-slung coffee table. “I came to apologize, actually. I know it’s probably not worth much now, especially coming from me, but I am sorry for how a lot of things went down. For Germany and Siberia.”

 

Twisting the cap off the bottle, she pours two generous amounts into each glass, then hands one to him. Tony accepts it slowly, frowning.

 

“Why now?” he asks.

 

She huffs, though it’s humorless. “I suppose I’ve finally had enough time to go back over everything, think about how it all played out. And Rogers told us what happened, after everyone was… brought back. With the bunker, and the footage.” She looks coldly angry, though it isn’t directed at Tony. “He said he would tell you when we’d first found out, but no. I should have known better, but I think I had him elevated above doing selfish, hurtful things. I was angry- am angry- for you. You didn’t deserve that, or to be blamed for so much. So, I’m sorry- for enabling the things that hurt you.”

 

Tony just stares at her for a moment, surprised, then crooks a lopsided smile, chuckling. At her confused look, he says, “I’m sorry, I’m just…I thought it must have actually been me, after a while, that there was some piece I was missing that would make everything he did make sense. Bucky this, Bucky that, but nothing about our actions, our mistakes. We hurt a lot of people. I know the Accords have some glaring issues, and that’s on me, but some acknowledgement of things would have been nice, an alternative better than just…keep going, status quo. Siberia was just the sucky cherry on top.”

 

He sighs, slumping further back against the couch, and sips some of the vodka. It is, indeed, excellent. “So, you’re right, you’re not the one I was really hoping to hear ‘sorry’ from, but I’m glad to have heard it all the same.” Glancing over at her with another crooked grin, he sees her smile faintly back. “I assume you’re staying with Barton? His,” Tony pulls a slight face, “Farm thing?”

 

She nods. “Yes. His family is back, now, but he’s still…unstable. Post-traumatic stress, maybe. Nightmares. He doesn’t like when he can’t see everyone, but it’s a little better when I’m there, too, to keep an eye on the kids. We’re helping rebalance each other. I haven’t really been in contact with any of the others since…well. Since.”

 

Tony snorts inelegantly. “We all need therapy. Like, a lot of therapy.” From Natasha’s expression, she doesn’t disagree.

 

“What will you do,” he asks, “after? Or will there be an after?”

 

She shrugs, sipping her own drink. “I don’t know. I’m not in a hurry to be anywhere else.”

 

“Yeah,” Tony sighs. “I know the feeling.”

 

They talk for a long while, working their way through the bottle and, once it’s delivered, takeout from one of Tony’s favorite hole-in-the-walls. It feels good, he thinks, to clear the air with her a bit. It’ll never be the same, they both know that, he probably won’t ever trust her the way he had when the Avengers were shiny and new, but there’s the possibility of being…okay. Maybe not quite friends, but he’d be okay, if she was around again. Barton too, probably, somewhere down the line.

 

He’ll need to do this with Bruce, when he gets back.

 

It’s very late, and they’re both comfortably drunk, when Tony asks, absently, “Would you want to rejoin the Avengers? You know, later. Not even for field stuff, just like, training. Advice-ing. Sort of thing. Would you want to come back?”

 

She looks intently at him, something alert in her eyes despite her slight swaying as she sits. “Would _you_ want?” she asks.

 

Tony shrugs. “Maybe? I dunno. Been thinking a lot. You’re good, at the stuff you do. Spy things n’ flippy punching things. Politics. Could fix things up, make a new start. Better foundation. Structured. Have safeguards for the…the disagreements. Split leadership, public oversight, but done right. Prevent something like before happening again. Hydra, or me n’ Rogers.”

 

He looks over at her, still watching him closely. He feels his mouth twist. “Maybe wouldn’t want to work directly together. It’s raw, still, thinking about what happened. But I’d be…open to you being there. I think.”

 

She huffs faintly, relaxing back. “I’m not looking to do anything more than I’ve been doing, right now. But if I find myself getting restless… I’ll consider it. Maybe by then we’ll both be ready to be around each other again.”

 

Tony puts her up in one of the guest rooms, before wandering to bed himself. He emerges late the next morning to a note left on the kitchen island.

 

_Thanks for not setting FRIDAY on me, and for a surprisingly pleasant night. I’m glad you’re doing well._

_Last I heard, Rogers was still in New York, with Barnes. They’d been planning to stay. Thought you should know._

_Take care, Tony._

_-N_

There are a few spots with false starts, like she’d changed her mind about what to write. It’s an uncharacteristic show of uncertainty. Next to the sink, the glasses are washed and dry.

 

***

 

The second motivator is a message from Pepper, a couple days later.

 

_Tony,_

 

_I’m starting to hear rumblings about meetings to re-establish the Accords Council. Nothing concrete, just preliminary planning from the sound of it. Rhodey says he’ll be able to act as your liaison, but there have been a few subtle requests for you to make an appearance, once things are under way. We’re fine either way, but I wanted to let you know in advance._

 

The rest is mostly updates on SI’s financial status and ongoing projects in R&D that she’s been keeping him up-to-date with.

 

Tony leans back in his chair, thinking, Natasha’s comment about getting restless kicking at the back of his brain. Things are about to start happening. It’s been almost a year, and the world is finally beginning to pick itself up, dust itself off. They can’t afford to leave themselves unprotected too long- weird cosmic threats aside, crazy would-be super villains had been cropping up practically every-other week before Thanos. This weird lull won’t last forever. And Tony’s been there for so much of all of it, finds he fiercely wants fix some of the mistakes they - he - made before. This time probably won’t be perfect either, but damn if he doesn’t desperately want it to be different. Better.

 

The anxiety that constricts through his chest at the thought of going back has him clenching his teeth, but for the first time since before Ultron, there’s a hopeful little spark there, too. Like maybe things _could_ go better this time. It’s terrifying.

 

He can feel himself locking up, the endless _could be’s_ running circles through his head. The reaction pisses him off, he’s better than this, _gotten_ better than this, dammit, so he forces himself up and across the workshop to where his heavier projects lie waiting.

 

Still, the thought keeps curling itself at the back of his mind as he works. Is he ready to go back? Does he _want_ to go back? The longer his chews it over, the more the answer looks like ‘yes.’

 

The deciding factor is, funnily enough, something almost completely unrelated to both the Avengers and the Accords, which dings cheerfully onto his phone at 2:17 the next afternoon.

 

_Mr. S, so I was out patrolling, and I saw this guy in green attacking this other guy, and then Dr. Wizard turned up again, and they had this crazy kung-fu fight with like, spells and stuff, and I’m totally not hurt and everything is fine, but Dr. Wizard got all worried anyway, and now he’s going to teach me MAGIC STUFF. Isn’t that awesome?!_

 

Precisely zero percent of that message is reassuring.

 

“Jesus fuck,” Tony says.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who has 2 thumbs and sucks at planning a storyline? It's me. I am that person. Sorry guys. I also hate to be _that guy_ , but: if you read the last chapter before this one was posted, I made some minor edits. It's nothing crazy, if you don't feel like backtracking, that's cool, ideally you won't notice anything too jarring. Mostly I felt weird trying to work around Captain Marvel while knowing literally 3 things about her character, so I decided not to. She might show up once the movie's out. 
> 
> All editing is still my own, though I'd definitely be in the market for a beta if anyone is interested! Also you can Twitter at me, I guess? Is that what we do these days? I can't keep up with this nonsense.

“Magic stuff,” Strange says flatly.

 

Tony scowls at him. This is, objectively perhaps, not the most urgent thing he has on his plate today. But it’s the one that makes him the twitchiest to think about, and so here he is, in the so-called Sorcerer Supreme’s study, reluctantly-conjured cup of coffee in hand. He desperately wishes it had come with a couple shots of whiskey.

 

“Magic _stuff,”_ Strange repeats. Tony rolls his eyes.

 

“That is the message that was received, and then gleefully passed on to myself, yes! So if you’d care to, I don’t know, _elaborate_ on what specific ‘magic stuff’ Peter thinks he’s going to be gaining ancient and forbidden knowledge of, that would be _supremely_ helpful, _thanks_. No pun intended.”

 

Strange stares at him for a moment, then his eyes narrow dangerously. “Stark, I would have to be _insane_ to teach that kid anything resembling the higher forms of the mystic arts. He’s enough of a menace flailing about with the damned webbing.”

 

Tony frowns. “Then what…?”

 

“Do you have any idea how many magic-wielding or telepathic criminals have come poking around since Thanos? _Five._ Five in eight months, including a rogue sorcerer of Kamar Taj, six if you count that idiotic, bowl-headed charlatan. Now, you can scoff and roll your eyes all you like, but these people are _dangerous,_ Stark, as are the powers they use, and your Spider-kid throws himself at them indiscriminately.”

 

“So, you’re going to…?” Tony prompts.

 

“ _So_ , I’m going to teach him basic mental fortification and our introductory forms,” Strange says huffily. At Tony’s blank look, he snaps, “Meditation and self-defense!”

 

At that, Tony bursts into unexpected laughter, full-bodied and loud in the quiet of the Sanctum. The image of _anyone_ attempting to have Peter meditate is ridiculous, dear god. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Strange says, sourly, though it’s another long minute before Tony has his cackling under control.

 

Strange glowers at him. “If you’re quite finished?” he grits impatiently. Magnanimously, Tony waves at him to continue, still wrestling down stray sniggers.

 

“He’s relying on acquired reflex and senses, and whatever enhancements you packed into that suit, but otherwise he’s clearly had no formal combat training. Frankly, he’s an excitable danger to himself and anyone else who happens to be nearby.”

 

Tony tilts his head, considering. “That isn’t your problem.”

 

“It is when he makes a point to show up, and attempt to help, practically anytime I leave the Sanctum! It’s starting to get a little old!”

 

“Right, but that’s not… wait, what?” Tony says, momentarily thrown. “No, never mind. I just meant it should be on the Avengers to get him trained, not you. Last I checked you had little interest in our affairs, I assume that’s still accurate?”

 

“ _Please_. And that kid’s been tagging after you like a lost puppy ever since you dragged him into your mess. If you haven’t seen fit to teach him some basic form before now, I highly doubt it’ll happen now the Avengers are essentially disbanded. How long to do you honestly think it’ll be before you have anything resembling your team, let alone time or resources for training anyone? And in the meantime, Peter’s out there, being _Spider-man_ at any criminal he comes across, prepared for it or no.”

 

Tony feels his jaw tighten. Strange nods. “I thought so. At least let me show him some basics. Trust me, I will happily cede to any Avengers regimen once there _are_ Avengers again.”

 

Tony looks out the window, shame and annoyance twisting him up in equal parts. His hand absently comes up to drum against his chest. Strange is right, much as he hates to admit it. He’s been a fairly shitty mentor, and Peter really does need some sort of formal coaching if he’s going to keep at this. Tony should have seen to it long before now, but, well, circumstances were…difficult. He won’t be able to devote near enough time to it now either, he knows, between returning to SI and the cautious plans he’s putting together.

 

Plus, for all that Tony personally thinks this guy’s a sanctimonious prick, Peter seems to have glommed onto him, if the texts and Strange’s own comments just now are anything to go by. He seems to have Peter’s best interest in mind, at least. For now, this seems like the best option.

 

He glances back to find Strange’s eyes on his hand, watching the drumming of Tony’s fingers with a small crease between his brows. As soon as Tony pauses, his eyes snap back to Tony’s face, expression going smooth.

 

“Fine,” Tony says, choosing to ignore the staring.

 

One of Strange’s eyebrows ticks up. “Fine?”

 

“Fine,” Tony repeats, shrugging. He shifts, tugging a card and a pen from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. “He needs training of some sort. I think all this mystical shit is fucking weird, but you and your stone-faced buddy seem to know how to handle yourselves.”

 

He flips the card over, scribbling on the back against his knee. “The Avengers will take over once they’re able to do so. In the meantime,” Tony flicks the card onto Strange’s desk, tucking the pen back into its pocket, “That’s a direct line to reach me. Call if anything terrible happens, I’d need to let his aunt know. And I’m assuming a lot of this junk is three-thousand years old and possessed by demons or whatever, so if he breaks anything, let me know and I’ll foot the bill.”

 

He stands as the sorcerer reaches out and picks up the card. “Hate to cut and run, but I’ve got a fairly full day ahead. Unless there’s anything else, I’ll see myself out.” Strange’s eyes cut back up to him, and he shakes his head absently. The eyebrow crease is back.

 

“Swell. It’s been fun. Don’t break my Spider.” And with that, Tony strides out the way they’d come, towards the door and the car waiting out front.

 

***

 

It’s been a long, _long_ day by the time Tony escapes back to the tower penthouse. Necessary meetings with SI’s board and various development teams, orchestrated by the ever-efficient Pepper, had taken up the bulk of the morning and afternoon. Tony had borne them all with unusual grace, and so as it approaches four o’clock and his fidgeting becomes distinctly noticeable, she sends him off with a peck on the cheek and a satisfied smile.

 

“Go on,” she says, shooing him off. “That’s all of the critical things here, and I don’t think I could stand sitting next to you twitching through another meeting, anyway. Go. Shoo. You’ll make the interns nervous.”

 

He spends a good fifteen minutes waffling in the workshop, whether to take the extra time and drive, or suit up and fly there directly. He hasn’t flown since he left for California. He should probably just make the drive, traffic won’t be too awful yet, probably. Suit might need calibrating. He’ll be out of practice. Probably-

 

“Fucking Christ!” he snaps, throwing his hands up and stomping over to where the suit sits in its storage case. “Absolutely fucking ridiculous,” he seethes, yanking the case open. “Leave for eight fucking months and turn into a giant wuss. See if I ever take another vacation. My own-,” shirt and slacks kicked off, flight pants on, “goddamn tech! Un-fucking-believable!” He lets out a final disgusted huff as he pulls the form-fitting undershirt down. The arc-reactor settles into place, a comfortable weight against his chest. He stills, laying a hand over it, and takes a breath. It all still fits.

 

Then, before he can rethink it, he taps twice against the reactor.

 

There had been a small, but loud, part of him that had been afraid the suit _wouldn’t_ fit, would feel constricting now- too much like the coffin if could have been. Instead, the nanotech flowing over him feels the same as Rhodey and Pepper’s rough hugs had, the day he arrived back from California: like an embrace after a long time away from home.

 

“How we looking, FRIDAY?”

 

He’s positive he’s not imagining the undercurrent of excitement in his AI’s voice when she responds, “All systems optimal, Boss. Weather conditions fair. Ready when you are.”

 

Flight, he finds, is still as exhilarating as it’s ever been.

 

***

 

He’s had a lot of time to think, is the thing, holed up in California. About the Avengers, the people and the organization, about the Accords. About the future. Yeah, sure, he’d borne the brunt of the blame leading up to- and following- some of their more catastrophic fuck-ups, but then, he’s the one with the global spotlight and wide-and-varied government connections, isn’t he? He can throw himself the world’s biggest pity party all he likes, boo-hoo, Rogers was a dick and everyone kept secrets, but at the end of the day, he had pushed for the Accords, almost unilaterally, without pausing to consider the idea the rest of them wouldn’t back the things until they were practically already ratified. As it turns out, panic and crushing guilt aren’t a great basis for crafting well-balanced, legally-binding international contracts. Who knew?

 

 _He_ should have, is the thing, with his multi-national, billion-dollar company; he’d practically been raised on bylaws and loopholes. There’s a lot of crap he’d let slide into the Accords, pushed in by angry, frightened representatives of the world while he was too frayed and exhausted himself to think better of it at the time. Well, he’s thought about it now, better late than never, probably. It’s going to be a monumental pain in the ass to fix, but he’s damn well going to try.

 

There’s still time and minimal urgency right now, despite the apparent huffing and puffing of the Council scraping itself back together. The Accords, while technically still in effect, are in-practicality being ignored while the world’s governing bodies deal with the repercussions of half the population reappearing after weeks of being suddenly gone. Domestic criminal and civil affairs have taken necessary precedence, the extensive backlogs and general clusterfuck situation providing some breathing room. And the slew of pardons awarded to all of them for going above and beyond defending the Earth haven’t hurt, either.

 

It starts, he thinks, with a platform for the Avengers. A proper, official one, done up on paper and documented somewhere more public than the bottom of a one-eyed spymaster’s desk drawer. Make themselves a unified front again, first, then tackle compromises with the rest of the world after. Tony can set aside his own issues for that. He hopes.

 

Rhodey gives him a sidelong look when Tony voices these thoughts at him, where they stand together overlooking the overgrown grounds of the Compound. “That’s going to be a hell of an overhaul, Tony.”

 

“Yeah,” Tony says. It’s weird, being here when it’s so empty. The rest are all elsewhere, the teams scattered after their big showdown with the genocidal one-gloved wonder. There’s a tasteless Michael Jackson joke in there somewhere, he thinks.

 

“There might be a lot of pushback, getting them changed.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And you’ll probably need Rogers’ involvement. A lot of the others might not work with you without it.”

 

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose, rubbing between his eyes. “…Yeah.”

 

“You’d have to actually talk to him. Full sentences.”

 

“ _Yes_ , dear. I am aware.”

 

Rhodey shrugs, raising his hands in a don’t-shoot-the-messenger gesture. “It’s going to be a big undertaking, is all I’m saying. You ready for that?”

 

“Guess we’ll find out,” Tony shrugs. “I figure I’ll start off slow, at least rehire the landscapers.”

 

Rhodey snorts.

 

***

 

When Tony pulls back into New York City air space, it’s late-ish, after ten. He has one more meeting to make, before he can let himself call it a night.

 

His target’s easy enough to spot, with the suit’s sensors. And beyond that, has a tracking beacon installed for emergencies, anyway. Easing the throttle of the repulsors down, they blend in with the noise of the wind this high up. He hovers briefly over the rooftop, then lands gently.

 

“Hey kid. Isn’t it a school night?”

 

Peter startles, nearly pitching off the corner of the roof he’s perched on. “WOAH my god, why would you- Mr. Stark! You’re back!”

 

“Yep. Hi Pete-hrgh,” Tony coughs, finding himself pulled suddenly into what would be a spine-twinging hug without the armor. Peter seems to remember himself a moment later, twitching away almost comically fast.

 

“Hahaaa, that was, that was supposed to be a, like a manly embrace, you know, totally uh, not. Weird. Or anything. People do that right? Um. How, uh, how was your trip? Thing.”

 

Tony snickers, the helmet receding back so Peter can see his face. “Smooth. And the ‘trip thing’ was…good.”

 

He moves to sit on the edge of the roof, Peter quickly settling beside him and sliding his own mask up. The kid’s grinning. Tony thinks he might be nearly vibrating with repressed excitement. It’s an infectious sort of happiness.

 

“So…you’re definitely back? For good-ish?”

 

“Yeah, here to stay. Just needed some time to recuperate.”

 

“Awesome,” Peter sighs, leaning back on his palms. “It’s been weird not having you around, Mr. Stark. There’s been all sorts of crazy stuff happening.”

 

“I’ll bet. It’s sounded like you’ve been keeping busy.” Tony slants him a mildly devious look. “Say, Peter, speaking of ‘crazy stuff,’ that last message I got from you had some _very_ interesting sounding developments.”

 

“Well, it’s a funny story, see-,” Peter starts.

 

“Imagine my surprise, to learn that you’re getting to be buddies with the resident wizard.”

 

“Yeah, I mean, it just seemed smarter to work together…?”

 

“So, just to be certain I hadn’t misunderstood, _naturally_ I checked in with him. Really now, _stalking_ the man? For shame, Peter.”

 

“Wait, Mr. Stark, what-,”

 

Tony snorts. “Relax kid, I’m messing with you. I think it’s a good idea for you to get trained up a bit.”

 

“Oh,” Peter says, blinking. “Really?”

 

Tony shrugs. “Of course. It’ll only help you. I certainly should have given you some instruction before, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

 

“Aw, Mr. Stark, no! You were, you had other stuff, with your- your job, and the space guys, it’s fine!”

 

“It’s really not. I’m not fishing for reassurance, Peter, I’m just saying you deserve more guidance than I’ve been giving you. If you want to learn stuff from the wizard guy, and he’s willing to teach it to you, then I don’t see any issue. You trust him?”

 

Peter hesitates, then nods slowly. “Yeah. I mean, he’s sort of cranky, but he’s not, you know, _mean_. He’s helped me out a lot, the last few months. And the _stuff he can do_ , Mr. Stark, it’s _amazing_. If I could learn to fight like that, it’d be…it’d be cool,” he finishes lamely, face going faintly pink. Tony’s eyebrows go up. He’s mostly only heard that star-struck tone of hero-worship relating to his own tech, before. Apparently mystical jiu-jitsu fights do the trick, too.

 

Tony sighs, quietly, ruffling Peter’s hair with a gauntleted hand and rising to his feet. “Seems like you have your work cut out for you, then. Which reminds me: your suit’s definitely overdue for a maintenance check and a few upgrades. Bring it in over the weekend, if you like, and we can look it over.”

 

Peter grins, scrambling up after him. “That’d be great, Mr. Stark, thanks! I’ll, uh, I’ll come by. For sure.”

 

“I’ll keep my schedule clear, then. Give May my best. And _go home_.”

 

“Sure thing, Mr. Stark, see you soon!”

 

Tony gives him a final wave, kicking up and jetting back towards the tower. Peter Parker and the Sorcerer Supreme, he thinks. That’s going to be an interesting combination.


End file.
